


And You Can Be the Remedy

by sinfuldesire_archivist



Category: Supernatural
Genre: Angst, Drama, Hurt/Comfort, Pre-Canon
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2006-08-02
Updated: 2006-08-02
Packaged: 2018-09-03 04:29:51
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Underage
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,251
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/8696617
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/sinfuldesire_archivist/pseuds/sinfuldesire_archivist
Summary: Dean gets hurt, and Sam angsts. This is the prequel to a new series I'm planning on doing. One that will involve actual plot. Try to contain your shock, people.





	

**Author's Note:**

> Note from the Sinful Desire archivists: this story was originally archived at [Sinful-Desire.org](http://fanlore.org/wiki/Sinful_Desire). To preserve the archive, we began importing its works to the AO3 as an Open Doors-approved project in November 2016. We e-mailed all creators about the move and posted announcements, but may not have reached everyone. If you are (or know) this creator, please contact us using the e-mail address on [Sinful Desire collection profile](http://archiveofourown.org/collections/sinfuldesire/profile).

**Title:** And You Can Be the Remedy  
 **Author:** [ ](http://keepaofthecheez.livejournal.com/profile)[**keepaofthecheez**](http://keepaofthecheez.livejournal.com/)  
 **Characters:** Sam/Dean  
 **Rating:** R  
 **Category:** underaged Wincest, slash  
 **Word Count:** 3, 121  
 **Spoilers/Warnings:** pre-Pilot; incest, underaged m/m sexual content, and the biggie…A BLOWJOB. (Oh, yes. I totally went there.)  
 **Disclaimer:** Oh, if only.  
 **Summary:** Dean gets hurt, and Sam angsts. This is the prequel to a new series I’m planning on doing. One that will involve actual plot. Try to contain your shock, people.  
 **Notes:** Thanks to [ ](http://lostt1.livejournal.com/profile)[**lostt1**](http://lostt1.livejournal.com/) for stepping in and doing a beta-read of this at the last minute!  
Also, thanks to [ ](http://la-folle-allure.livejournal.com/profile)[**la_folle_allure**](http://la-folle-allure.livejournal.com/) and [ ](http://merepersiflage.livejournal.com/profile)[](http://merepersiflage.livejournal.com/)**merepersiflage** for general cheerleading and/or handholding. *humps y’all’s legs*  
  
  
  
  
  
Sam looked up when the motel door flew open, a slurred curse filling the air as a figure leaned heavily against the doorjamb. History project forgotten, Sam was on his feet and across the room in record time, catching Dean before his brother fell face-forward onto the shaggy crap-carpeting.  
  
“Dean,” he managed, stumbling back a few feet as Dean laughed into his shoulder; the sound an awkward mélange of madness and pain. Insane images and explanations began to tumble through Sam’s mind, and he all but shook his brother before demanding, “What happened?”  
  
“Got the bitch.” Dean’s eyes were glittering, lips twisted into a smile of brutal triumph. Sam recognized the adrenaline coursing through his brother and was hardly pacified when Dean’s teeth began to chatter and he let out another hysteria-edged laugh. “Got me, too.”  
  
Sam’s heart was in his throat when he pulled back enough to glimpse the torn material of Dean’s shirt and the horrifying red stain spreading across one broad shoulder. All at once, guilt and abandoned responsibility and several other emotions took him in a stranglehold and he was sprinting for the duffel bag in the corner of the room. He could hear Dean sit on their bed, a pained groan spilling from his lips, and Sam riffled through the medical supplies with more fervor.  
  
He should have gone with Dad and Dean. End of story. The fight he’d put up before the hunt suddenly seemed trite and unforgivable, and Sam’s breath hitched at the memory of how he’d all but demanded to be left alone – just this once – to finish his homework for school. After all, couldn’t Dad and Dean take care of the local resident baddie on their own? They didn’t _need_ Sam, but Sam needed to finish his project or else he was going to fail his class and...  
  
He was a goddamned idiot.  
  
He wasn’t aware he’d spoken out loud until Dean snorted and shifted on the bed to get more comfortable. “You’d’ve just gotten in the way, honestly. She had a thing for leggy brunettes.”  
  
Sam twisted his neck, staring sharply at Dean, and his brother winked. Fucking _winked_ \- sly smirk masking features white and pinched in pain, and Sam came to his feet nearly shaking in agitation.  
  
“This is all my fault,” he bit off, ignoring Dean’s ridiculous attempt to joke around the situation. He approached the bed, laying the necessary materials on scratchy sheets before helping Dean remove the now useless shirt. His brother hissed as the dried blood fusing cotton and skin tugged at his wound and Sam dropped his hands, feeling young and helpless and everything he hadn’t been since he’d turned ten years old and their father had given him his first real lesson on things that went bump in the night.  
  
Speaking of which…  
  
“Dean, where’s Dad?” he asked, watching through worried eyes as Dean shrugged the rest of the way out of the shirt on his own, revealing wide, muscled planes and the nasty wound itself. Sam nearly choked at the sight; taking in the torn and jagged flesh in almost dizzy recrimination against himself.  
  
When Dean didn’t respond, in fact looked everywhere but at Sam, Sam had his answer. And just like that, rage replaced concern, and his fists clenched at his sides when his brother finally met his gaze. “Sam—” Dean started, but Sam wasn’t hearing any of it.  
  
“He ran off after something else.” The words were cold, and Dean flinched. Sam sat back on the bed, wanting to slam his fist into something, anything. But mostly the specter of the one person who wasn’t around to take it. “Goddamn it, Dean…did he make you drive back like this?”  
  
“I’m fine,” Dean replied, tone brusque. His eyes narrowed on Sam with his _and that’s the end of it_ expression that he _knew_ only pissed Sam off. Knowing this, Dean tried to soften it with a grin. “Seriously, Sam, it’s all right. Wasn’t that far away, and besides…it was important, okay?”  
  
“More important than you getting shot in the shoulder?”  
  
Dean’s happy-go-lucky mask finally slipped away, and he stared at Sam with features that clearly read _drop it_. “Yes,” he clipped out, and then more gently, “you know that, Sammy.”  
  
He didn’t know that. He didn’t _understand_ it, and he couldn’t see how Dean did. Still, it was obvious that his brother was in pain, and arguments about their father only ever wore Dean out and made him quiet and withdrawn. Which was maybe the only thing worse than sitting in a cheap motel staring at his brother’s damaged shoulder and knowing he maybe could have helped prevent it.  
  
Sam bit his lip to keep the words from coming, catching Dean’s gaze and whispering, “You should be in a hospital, Dean.”  
  
“Aw, c’mon, man…it’s only a flesh wound.” Dean managed a grin, voice a mockery of a British accent, but Sam didn’t appreciate the attempt at a joke and kept his expression unmoved. Dean caved seconds later, releasing a heavy sigh and working his shoulder, wincing slightly. “It’s no big deal, okay? I just wanna get drunk and pass out ‘til morning.”  
  
“Dean—”  
  
Dean cut him off, lowering his head and catching Sam’s mouth with his own. The kiss was short and barely there, but it went light years toward calming Sam’s frazzled nerves. When he pulled back, Dean gave him a half-smile and traced Sam’s bottom lip with a finger. “It’s okay, Sammy. Go back to studying.”  
  
Sam immediately began to protest, but Dean waved him off, grabbing the duffel bag with his good arm and heading for the bathroom, closing the door behind him pointedly.  
  
Sam just sat there, feeling useless and guilty again.  
  
 

* * *

  
  
  
The second Sam’s expression was blocked by three inches of solid wood, Dean collapsed against the door and let out the breath he’d been holding from the moment he’d walked – or stumbled, rather – back into the motel.  
  
_Fuck_ , gunshot wounds hurt like a bitch. And this one in particular, because it had come at the added motivation of one seriously pissed off Ardat-Lile who had thought it would be funny to use Dean’s own weapon against him.  
  
Ha fucking ha.  
  
Putting up a front for Sam’s benefit had taken almost every last ounce of strength he possessed, and after making the short albeit bumpy drive back from town with one hand and a curse on his lips, Dean just wanted to take a few painkillers and fall facedown on the bed. Screw the alcohol…he wouldn’t need it.  
  
Dad’s words rang in his ears; the instructions he’d barked at Dean while loading the truck to take off after whatever clue the female demon had left him before they’d salted and burned her ass.  
  
_Get back to Sammy, son. Don’t leave the motel…I’ll be in touch._  
  
And okay, yeah, maybe Dean had expected a _little_ more acknowledgement of the fact that he’d been _shot_ , whether it was simply a graze or not. But it’d only taken a quick glimpse of their father’s determined expression and Dean had known. John Winchester had already forgotten he was there.  
  
He couldn’t afford to dwell on that. His shoulder was fucking throbbing, and honestly, he didn’t know _how_ the hell he was gonna tend to the injury. He should’ve let Sam do it, but he hadn’t been able to stomach the guilt and frustration written across his younger brother’s expressive features.  
  
He knew Sam was blaming himself for this. The argument before they’d left was ridiculous in the fact that neither Dean nor Dad had ever intended to allow Sam to go with them anyway. Still, Dean hadn’t been able to bite back a bit of pride at seeing his brother finally take a stand and put his foot down for what he wanted. Even if it was for some stupid school project Dean would never understand, or be interested in.  
  
But now…Sam was being Sam and believing that he was being punished for that instant of selfishness by getting Dean shot. It was laughable, if one didn’t know Sam. But Dean did, probably better than anyone else ever would, and therefore he knew exactly what was running through his brother’s mind at that exact moment.  
  
With trembling fingers, he managed to pry off the cap to a bottle of Percocet left over from a past unavoidable visit to the emergency room, and downed two with a sip from the flowered paper cup resting on the sink. He pulled down the toilet seat lid, falling heavily onto the hard surface, and took a deep breath.  
  
He managed to get the antiseptic on the wound before his joints locked up on him, and he let out a hissed groan, realizing that this was hopeless. He’d dealt with far more dangerous injuries to himself, but for whatever reason, he wasn’t getting anywhere tonight. He rested his head against the wall, throat working.  
  
Drowsiness was already creeping in when he heard the sound of the door opening, and then Sam’s heavy footsteps. There was a sharp intake of breath, and then the door shut again and Dean could practically feel Sam hovering over him. He let out a grunt, barely lifting one eyelid to stare at his brother’s face.  
  
“You asshole,” was all Sam said, lips flat, and then he was kneeling before Dean and gently taking the length of bandage from his limp fingers. “Go back to studying? God, Dean, why didn’t you just let me—”  
  
Dean shifted, and it caused the open wound to gush a bit, and they both sucked in, Dean’s eyes flying wide open from the minor jolt of pain. His gaze snared on Sam’s, and he felt slightly sick to his stomach at the sight of the wetness gleaming in Sam’s eyes.  
  
“Dean, I’m so sorry,” Sam was apologizing, but Dean’s ears were buzzing and the painkillers were finally starting to take effect, and all he could manage in response was a slurred, “’n’t worry ‘bout it, Sammy. Not…your fault.”  
  
“Like hell,” Sam answered, and Dean almost smiled at the stubborn tone. Sam had more Winchester in him than he’d ever admit. The curve of his lips quickly turned to a grimace when Sam began gingerly treating his wound, and Dean’s voice broke on a curse the moment Sam sat back on his heels, the bandage expertly wrapped across Dean’s shoulder.  
  
His brother’s palms – ridiculously huge for his age, and something Dean often teased him about – came to rest on Dean’s thighs, and Dean’s muscles immediately clenched in something completely different than pain. At least, until Sam’s husky voice said, again, “I’m so sorry.”  
  
It was the voice of a fifty-year old man, not a sixteen-year old boy, and Dean was abruptly exhausted and miserable. “Sam, don’t,” he said, a little more sharply than he’d intended judging by the almost hurt gleam in Sam’s eyes. He sighed, shifted a little and added, “You know, if you’re _really_ sorry…”  
  
He let his voice go deep, teasing, and knew Sam had gotten it the minute his brother’s expression went from teenage angst, to momentary confusion, to knowing realization, a telltale flush decorating his cheeks. Dean could only grin at that, because after everything they’d done – which, granted, wasn’t a _lot_ since Dean wasn’t about to rush things along and fuck up whatever the hell it was they had going – Sam could still manage to look so sweet and innocent sometimes.  
  
It turned Dean on as much as it absolutely exasperated him.  
  
And then, Sam licked his lips, and Dean was just turned on.  
  
“What can I do to make it up to you?” Sam asked, and really, the sound of his younger brother’s voice shouldn’t have had any effect whatsoever on Dean’s cock, especially given the current circumstances.  
  
Of course, telling himself that hadn’t helped since the night of Sam’s fourteenth birthday, when Dean had woken up to find his baby brother staring down at him; bottom lip between his teeth, cock grinding against Dean’s. Instead of being freaked out or putting a stop to it, Dean had given into his own fucked-up desires and let Sam get them both off.  
  
And the scariest thing of all was that the next morning, things hadn’t felt awkward. There had been no horrified sense of _oh fuck, what did we do?_ Even when Dad had gotten back, the most Dean had felt was a shamed awareness of wishing he’d stayed gone longer. That he’d given Sam and himself more time. He should have been thinking up ways to castrate himself, but instead, it was as if something had shifted inside of him, finally finding the right spot.  
  
Sam had always been his, just in a different way.  
  
“Dean?”  
  
It was the slight hesitation in that soft voice that brought him out of the past and back into the present. Dean stared down at Sam through heavy lids, focusing on the tip of Sam’s tongue as he drew it nervously along his lips. His thighs twitched, and then he was blurting out, “Heh, well, a blowjob’s always nice.”  
  
He punctuated it with a laugh, but apparently Sam didn’t believe it was a joke either, because then he was holding Dean’s gaze with an almost satisfied expression and reaching for Dean’s zipper. Dean made a sound of protest or encouragement – he wasn’t really sure which – and then whispered, “Sam.”  
  
“It’s okay,” Sam said, and now _he_ was the one reassuring _Dean_ , and fuck if they hadn’t come full-circle in twenty minutes time. A slow smile broke out along Sam’s features, and he added, “I want to.”  
  
God, _Dean_ wanted him to. But… “Sam, I was just…I don’t really think I could…” he trailed off, slightly embarrassed to admit that the pain was just too fucking much for him to really enjoy it. He was a little hard, but nowhere near hard enough to appreciate the wonders of Sam’s mouth.  
  
“Are you saying you _don’t_ want me to suck you off?” It was the amused disbelief in Sam’s voice that did it, and Dean reached out with his uninjured arm and sank his fingers into the tousled mass of Sam’s floppy hair.  
  
“Oh, I want it,” he growled, eyes flashing as Sam just continued grinning. Dean’s fingers clenched in soft curls. “Damn it, Sam, you don’t have to do this just because you’re upset I got shot.”  
  
Long fingers reached into his unzipped fly and stroked the curve of his dick through his boxers, and Dean groaned softly. Sam wet his lips again. “Maybe I just really want to blow you, and this gives me a good excuse.”   
  
“Oh, yeah?” Dean had to chuckle at that argument; all the blood rushing out of his head and making him feel light-headed and giddy. He closed his eyes, head falling back again as Sam’s fingers continued teasing him. “Ever thought of being a lawyer, Sammy?”  
  
Sam was silent for so long that Dean started to open his eyes, and then soft, wet heat encompassed his dick, and he let out a husky groan instead, rolling his hips forward. Sam was a diligent little fucker, and had obviously been reading up on things, because he’d changed his methods even from the last time they’d done this. At least, he better have been reading, or else Dean was going to have to shoot someone himself—  
  
“Jesus _Christ_ ,” he gasped out when Sam’s tongue fluttered beneath the head, and he forgot about the pain in his shoulder as he reached out blindly, petting and stroking the top of Sam’s head as his brother continued licking and sucking and making sounds that were ripping right through Dean.  
  
And then Sam was shouldering his way closer, spreading Dean’s legs wider, and going at it harder. And Dean was just trying not to come, trying to enjoy the sensations as long as possible. It wasn’t until he opened his eyes and found Sam looking up at him, cheeks flushed and eyes dark and hooded, one hand working his own dick, that Dean bit back a curse and tried to pull away.  
  
“Don’t,” Sam ordered sharply, lips nuzzling Dean’s shaft as he squirmed on the toilet seat.  
  
“Dude, I’m gonna…”  
  
“Then do it. Jesus.”  
  
It was getting close to the point of no return, and Dean’s voice went gruff and pleading, hips jerking. “Sam, I swear to God, if you don’t move back…”  
  
“You’ll do what?” Sam leered, and then sucked the head of Dean’s cock back into his mouth. Dean slapped a hand against the shower stall, fingers clenching against the glass, and he let out a shout that probably woke up any neighbors they might have had.  
  
Sam gagged a bit at the first splash, and at any other time, Dean would’ve laughed at the way his brother’s eyes watered, but right then he was desperately trying not to choke Sam – with his hands _or_ his dick. He forced himself not to thrust the way he wanted to, riding Sam’s tongue in slow, controlled movements.  
  
“You’re a stubborn bitch, Dean,” Sam was saying minutes later, sitting back and wiping his mouth with the back of his hand. His lips were swollen and pink, and Dean almost groaned again at the reminder of _why_. “You don’t have to treat me like a damn girl.”  
  
Dean’s mind was only half-working, so he fell back on the usual repartee. “But you’re so pretty.”  
  
“Fuck you.”  
  
“Mmm…I think I’m gonna pass out now,” Dean murmured, blinking and sliding down the seat. He barely heard Sam’s muffled curse, and then his brother’s arms were wrapped around him, and Sam was helping him into the bed. Dean grinned, staring as Sam worked his pants the rest of the way off and yanked his shirt over his head. “ _Real_ pretty, Sammy.”  
  
Sam’s only response was a heavy sigh, but Dean was fairly certain he caught a hint of a smile cross his brother’s features. He tried to sit up on one elbow, but none of his limbs seemed to want to work. “By the way…I got you figured out, dude.”  
  
“What are you talking about?” Sam tried to sound bored, pulling back the sheets to slide in next to Dean.  
  
Dean snorted. “You can act as innocent as you want, Sam, but I know you were planning that shit the minute you walked in the bathroom.”  
  
“Well, pleasure’s an anti-stimulus to pain. Pumps up the endorphins. So I just thought…” Sam’s cheeks flushed when Dean simply stared at him, and then he scooted closer, throwing an arm around Dean’s stomach and mumbled, “I read it somewhere, okay?”  
  
Dean wanted to laugh, but he was too fucking worn out, the echoes of his orgasm still pulsing throughout his body.   
  
“Helluva remedy, Sam.” 


End file.
